


The holy trinity

by xagentofchaos



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: ...or tripletcest, Alternate Universe, M/M, Short, Snuff, minor incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:10:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xagentofchaos/pseuds/xagentofchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He loves those that hold a grudge against him but it’s delicate just how easy it is to turn that love into hate. </p><p>Stefan isn’t family; no blood is binding them together, but he is a substitute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The holy trinity

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I watched the show, with obsession, so I'm not entirely sure what the deal with the white oak ash.. thing, was playing out. So please excuse me if I got the thing wrong.

Top three of his favorite things in the world are simple. Number three resonates with energies of optimism and joy, the object bring matter into his life. It’s the blood seeping through the human vein; the thick, red liquid that fills his body with a hearty delight. The source of life for someone who came back from the dead. 

The blood comes as a gift after screams of terror to send shivers down his spine, the fright in those pretty eyes that realizes the ending is near. He usually hunts for girls; it’s just something about the way their shrieks echoes into the night and the way their soft bodies tremble around his skin. Men can be fun from time to time but only a certain pair. The ones that lose their manly complexes and quivers into fear are his favorites. It’s a pity he hasn’t met a lot of them. 

On a few occasions, he brings his toys into an evening. Mostly because he’s bored and needs something to distract him from going on a killing spree or make more hybrids, since that isn’t so popular in the little town, he’s gathered. He’s got three favorites in his simple tastes and blood is one of them. For many reasons; not only to just feed on when the mood’s dropped and he needs a refill, but to play around with. To have a couple of compelled boys to give themselves into his power and not relent when he opens their skin with his teeth. They smile when they’re told to, fights back when he asks and give into the numb death when he’s done. 

He’s got a great taste in what’s good and not, and these men are a fine collection. Young and pretty, some more experienced than others. But no one too bold, too vulgar, just good enough to amuse him for the night. They’re all fighting for being on top but most of all to receive his appreciation, just like he compelled them to. _Worship me, I am your king and you’ll do anything to please me_. Three of them, hard enough to combust, pupils so big they cover their entire iris and the fire from the fireplace is brightening their features. Sharp jawbones and worked out bodies. Similar hair colors and alike faces. What can he say? There’s just something about twins… But triplets? Boy, did his mind go predatory and illegal. Just like a perfect Friday evening. 

Two out of three are sharing brotherly saliva through frigid mouths as, still dressed in jeans, they’re rubbing off on each other like hungry virgins. Right next to them in the leather covered sofa, is his mouth currently covering the droplets of blood from the blonde one. His slave’s gasps and moans are filling the room with a shivering delicacy, and it’s only making him suck harder on the vein. Blood is spilling into his mouth with a taste of iron and heat, licking itself down his throat. But he’s still finding himself grasping for more and is one the edge of ripping the boy apart to achieve it, just to be able to feel more than just the irony liquid melting in his body. He needs to taste the marrow of the bones and the juicy meat on muscles. Also the beating contraption behind the ribs; he needs to have the boy’s beating heart on his tongue. 

Just like every single one of these nights end, he’s on the sofa half naked with his fangs out. Unsatisfied with a wine glass of the best blood he owns, sipping while cleaning most of the remains from the escalation away with a towel. The boys are ripped to shreds, dashed out on his expensive furniture, jaws hanging broken from their faces. And just like every other night, he’s left with a dark ache in his body, tremendous and unfilled. Whatever he’s trying, he can’t seem to sew it together, no matter how many men are joining the blood orgy. 

He glances down at the blonde one again and shifts his eyes over the lifeless body. It’s like honey on the crown with darker eyebrows to sharpen the soft look. The boy reminds him of a certain vampire on his mind. And there is that hollowness in him again, raging harder and more vivid. 

He sighs and rises to his feet to only grimace by the wet sound the spilled blood is making on the carpet. Bending down to get closer to the dead, he whispers with a soft, but raspy on the edges: “You’re going to have to pay for that carpet.” And then he leaves the room. 

~*~

Although immortality is an important aspect in his life, blood is still running in his veins. He’s got a beating heart, working organs and a functioning brain, he just can’t die. Oh well, if you ignore the part about the white oak ash daggers. He’s blocked them out of his mind and what’s forgotten isn’t real. No matter of a dagger that’ll possibly end his ongoing life in the future, he’s still ninety-nine percent impossible to kill. That’s something to put on your resume. But not the growing hole in his chest, the three magic u’s: unfilled, unsatisfied, undead, controlling every step he takes. It grows darker and more lethal the more he kills and so far it hasn’t been a problem to bother about, until it started to mess with his senses. 

The brain is a funny thing, complex and full of mysteries. And one of those mysteries is _why does it turn strength into weakness_. He can control everyone, apart from witches and werewolves, and create chaos in every little corner of the town. But he can’t for the world compel himself to let go of the massive black hole in him, doing so only makes it worse. It’s as if his body is trying to tell him something but he won’t listen. He only rely his attention on one part of him and that’s the predatory side, not the emotional damage caused by specific events. 

He can feel the black grow from the way his blood stream changes. Being under a lot of stress doesn’t prevent it from getting larger; being drained, tired, angry et cetera. But also being in a situation where he finds himself being almost every night, just like last; with a couple of compelled humans to satisfy his needs. Arousal of a different kind has proven to darken the hole; giving himself a little gift in a form as a male. Usually dirty blonde. It’s just a matter of taste, obviously, but the blackness disagrees. Apparently it’s wrong of him to prefer the blonde ones over dark haired. Not particularly because it _means_ anything special, he just can’t stand the thought of having a darker one giving himself over to him. 

Control is important, in every aspect. If you’re in no control, you’ve lost and you’ll probably be dead soon anyway, so no loss for the world. But control is also what’s gotten him in this situation to begin with. The complex with letting go and let live, the need to hold on to the world and form it yourself. He can’t stand changes; they irritate him, especially if they don’t fall in to the category of his choice. Therefore, control is the only way for him. 

But there’s something he can’t have any control over, or rather _someone_. The special blonde that could have his heart on a platter, and he still wouldn’t dodge the bullet. He’s had the blonde’s life in his hands before but as he granted the freedom back, he was never able to predict the next move. Not necessarily because he’s unable to, he’s still an Original, he hasn’t lost his ability. But because of the slightest hints of morals that’s left in him. 

He might be an undead hybrid with ninety-nine percent immortality, but he still has blood running in his veins. And the dark knows damn well who makes the stream speed up, because the black hole in his chest is no one else than Stefan Salvatore, the ever so annoying vampire of Mystic Falls. The blonde one who is the only one he’s still has morals for. 

Pity.


End file.
